Something to Talk About
by peanutbutterer
Summary: Her fingers are flicking open the button of his jeans and suddenly he can't remember what he was thinking. Oh well. Probably not important.


"We should maybe talk about this?" she says, or rather, he _thinks _that's what she says. It comes out a lot more mumbled and lacking much conviction. This either due to the fact that his lips are on hers or that his hands are on her ass. Most likely a combination of both.

With astonishing strength of will he pulls away. Donning a confused expression, he looks at her face before scanning the hallway in both directions.

"What?" she asks, chest rising and falling with labored breaths. _Damn_, that's sexy.

"I thought I was making out with Kensi Blye." He holds up his hand, palm down. "Yea high, brown hair, absolutely abhors talking about feelings."

She rolls her eyes and grabs the front of his shirt. "Shut up and come inside, Deeks."

He raises an eyebrow, unable to keep the corner of his mouth from raising.

"Not that kind of -" she begins to amend before tilting her head. "Well, actually -"

His lips are back on hers before she finishes her thought. Way too much talking, he's decided.

He backs her into her apartment, the wooden door slamming against the wall as it swings wide. He steers her toward the couch, feet tangling in something - shoes? - as he tries to maneuver them without breaking contact.

She makes a grunting sound as the backs of her thighs hit the arm of the couch and he reluctantly pulls his lips from hers.

"What?"

"What are you, fifteen?"

"Not last time I checked, no. But I've been told I have boyishly good looks, so I can see how you'd be confused."

She chooses to ignore him. "You want to have sex on a couch?"

"I just want to have sex."

"Well it's not going to happen on a couch. I need much more surface area."

He considers the implications of that and decides he really, really likes them.

He only trips once on the way to the bedroom and considers that a small victory. She didn't even laugh - much. Okay, maybe she did laugh much. A lot, even. But, in what he will also declare a victory, he finds that his teeth plus her neck equal a very tongue-tied Kensi.

He's about to throw her (romantically) onto the bed when he actually takes a moment to observe his surroundings.

His hands slide up to her arms to halt her forward motion and he peeks around her (incredibly sexy) tussled hair. "Damn, Kens. Is there an inch of this place that isn't covered in junk?"

"You want to talk about my housekeeping skills or do you want to have sex with me?"

"Can't we do both?"

"Not likely."

"But how are we going to fit on the bed?"

She rolls her eyes, reaches for the duvet and pulls it off the bed entirely. She would have failed miserably as a magician's assistant, because what he can only imagine are weeks' worth of clothes tumble to the floor with it.

"But now I'm going to be cold," he says. He's not sure why he's talking. He certainly can find better things to do with his mouth.

"You want me to turn up the heat?"

"Is that an innuendo?"

"Yes." She's rolling her eyes again. Somehow, he's taking this in the wrong direction, but he can't make himself stop. He really needs to find the wire that connects his mouth to his brain and sever it. "The thermostat is a metaphor for your -"

"Okay, got it. No need. I'm sure I'll find some way to keep warm."

"_Really?_"

"Hey, if you're looking for someone who doesn't say dumb things, you're with the wrong guy."

"How about someone who doesn't talk at all?"

"Not likely."

"Can we at least get on with the sex while you make ridiculous comments?"

"That works."

"Awesome."

She grabs the hem of his shirt and yanks it up over his head. It lands on the ground and he accepts the very real possibility that he'll never be able to find it again.

There's a nagging feeling that they really should discuss what's about to happen - what they won't be able to take back, what can and will very likely alter the course of their partnership (which is the best and most important relationship he has) - but there's also the hope of _actually having sex_ _with Kensi Blye_. He's having a really hard time deciding which way to go. He opts to take the coward's way out and make sure the ball is firmly in her court.

"You think we should talk about this?" Their lips break apart long enough for the words to escape his mouth and he realizes she's somehow no longer wearing a shirt.

Whoa. Boobs.

Okay, maybe he _is_ fifteen.

"Probably. Do you want to stop?"

Her fingers are flicking open the button of his jeans and suddenly he can't remember what he was thinking. Oh well. Probably not important.

"No. No, I do not want to stop."

His pants tangle around his ankles and he starts to trip as he attempts to move closer to her bed. He tries to turn it into something intentional, but she doesn't buy it.

"Smooth," she says as he bounces onto the bed, his hand snagging hers and pulling her down with him.

"This is not fair. The whole damn place is booby trapped."

"I've rigged it to get you horizontal."

"You went to too much trouble," he says, lips once again finding hers. "You could have just asked."

"I'll remember that for next time."

_Next time._ He really likes the sound of that.

Once securely on the bed, Deeks kicks his off his pants the rest of the way - when did he lose his shoes? - and reaches for hers. He fumbles with the button and her nail scrapes over his nipple. He practically jumps out of his skin.

He feels her grin against his mouth. "Need me to help you?"

"I've got it under control, thanks."

"You sure? 'Cause I'd like to lose the pants sometime before Christmas."

He snaps open her button and works her jeans down past her hips. Her panties match her bra. It's the last thing he expected. "Floral? Really?"

"My military-issue camos are in the wash."

"I missed so much when you placed that 'outerwear only' restriction on our deal."

Her finger slides just underneath the hem of his boxers. "I'll try and make up for it."

He scoots up the bed, head finding a pillow, and pulls her up with him. Her body's wedged against his side, skin searing where it presses against hers. "See that you do."

And she does. Oh, how she does.

Her tongue replaces her fingers on his nipple and it's warm and wet and, damn, this is going to be embarrassing.

"You thinking about baseball stats?"

"Basketball." He tries to sounds affronted, but he's having trouble refraining from panting. "Don't you know me at all?"

She hums her reply and he decides it's time for him to take control of this situation. If it goes any further in the current direction he's going to lose it and she's going to be completely unaffected - which is entirely unacceptable.

His finger traces the edge of her panties, sliding around from her back, over her hip and to the front, lingering below her bellybutton a moment before dipping beneath the fabric. Her breath hitches, her body stills and he grins. He's starting to feel like maybe he's leaving her as flustered as she's leaving him.

"You going to take off your socks?" he asks, kisses trailing over her jaw and down her neck as his free hand slides up her back.

"The duvet's on the floor."

His lips settle where her neck meets her shoulder and he goes for the clasp of her bra. "And you think socks will keep you warm?"

"Are you going to make some comment about things 'heating up?'"

He affects a pout. "Not now, I'm not."

She takes advantage of his expression, tugging his lower lip with her teeth.

He unhooks her bra (mercifully without issue) and then suddenly he's holding her breast in his hand. Kensi Blye's breast is _in his hand_. His thumb finds her nipple and the sound she makes is one he thinks she would _definitely _not appreciate as his ringtone.

It isn't until the last scraps of clothing are gone (in the end, she opts for sock removal) and he's hovering above her that his brain resumes its (admittedly limited) function. "Condom?"

"Darn, I usually keep one in my wallet, but then I realized I'm not a 19 year-old frat guy."

He actually growls. "Fuck."

"You don't have one?"

"I wasn't really planning on this happening."

She slides closer. He can feel the heat spreading between her legs. "You should always plan on this happening."

"Noted. That doesn't really help right now, though."

He feels rather than sees her grin. "We'll just have to get creative."

She rolls them over and drops a kiss to his lips before tracking a path down his neck, across his chest and past his navel.

The noise he makes is somewhere between a groan and a whimper.

"We're never going to be able to take this back," he manages to say (though why he says it, he's not entirely sure. Hadn't he decided not to pursue this line of thought?)

"We were going to be able to take back the part where I was kissing your nipple?"

She's settled between his legs and why, _why_ is he talking? Why can't he stop? "No, but -"

"Weren't you the one who didn't want to talk about this?"

Yes, yes he was. He is. "I thought that was you."

"It was probably both of us."

"We should, you know." _Ugh_. Mouth. Brain. _Sever_.

"Should what?"

"Well, do it and talk about it, but probably not in that order."

"Yeah," she relents, "we should."

With visible reluctance, she crawls back up the bed, collapsing beside him, her naked body pressing against his. Desire hums between them and he tries to tamp it down. He's completely unsuccessful.

"We were supposed to be drunk when this happened," she says after a moment.

"Then we wouldn't have to talk."

"Then we wouldn't be to blame," she corrects. "We'd have been out of our minds."

"We probably are anyway."

"Is this a bad idea?"

Her hand is resting on his bare chest, the simple contact one of the greatest things he's felt in, well, _ever_.

"It's a horrible idea." He drops his hand on hers and holds it there. "It's a fantastic idea."

"Deeks, I -" She breaks their eye contact. "Maybe we should have talked about this at the door."

"I don't know. Given the choice, I think I like conversing with you better while naked."

"Somehow I'm not surprised."

"I can't be a total mystery."

"You can't be a mystery at all." When she sighs her breath flutters over his skin. "This will change us."

He twists so he's on his side facing her and starts tracing her hipbone with the tips of his fingers. "For the worse?"

She shrugs. "Do you want to find out?"

Yes. And no. But, really - "Yeah." He leans forward and softly presses a kiss to her lips. "Yeah, I do. I think it's going to be worth the risk. You're the most important person in my life, Kens, and I don't want to ruin that, but-"

She kisses him. "I know."

"We could be pretty awesome."

"We _are_ pretty awesome."

"We could be even more awesome. Awesomer even."

She scrunches up her nose. "I think we should be done talking."

He raises his eyebrows and clutches her hip. "So, sexy stuff now?"

"After that exhaustive discussion? I think we've earned it."

"You're a mocker."

"Among other things."

"Oh yeah? What kind of other things?"

"I can show you."

She makes a move to shimmy back down the bed but he stops her, pushing her onto her back and leaning over her.

"Huh uh," he says with a shake of his head. "My turn to show you something."

"I like the sound of that."

He kisses her neck on his way down. "I thought you might."

She clutches him anywhere she can manage to get a hold of as his tongue slips around her nipple, then over to the other before continuing on the downward path. She shivers.

He can feel her wetness as the desire begins to overcome thought. He manages to pause for a minute, looking up to meet her gaze. Her hand is in his hair, stroking it with a tenderness that seems out of place in the heat of the moment.

"Kensi, I -"

Her fingers still. "Don't say it."

"Can I think it?"

"You can think it." She smiles. "I'm thinking it too."

And he knows then without a doubt that if this is a mistake it'll be the best mistake he ever makes.


End file.
